


The Jewel of Erebor

by karategal



Series: A Hobbit in the Lonely Mountain [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dwarf Culture, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Hobbit Culture, Human Culture, Humor, Interspecies, M/M, Political Alliances, Silly Sex, Thorin's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karategal/pseuds/karategal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a royal trade summit in Dorwinion, Thorin realizes just how charming and politically savvy his hobbit-y husband can be, especially with the human royals. The King Under the Mountain doesn't know whether to be jealous or impressed by Bilbo's popularity with their southern neighbors. Of course, everybody loves Frodo, too. Maybe it's a hobbit thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jewel of Erebor

"I think he's charmed the pants off of half the city."

Dwalin stood directly to Thorin's right side, arms crossed as he surveyed the enormous dining hall they were currently lunching and schmoozing in, large axes strapped to his back in typical fashion. Even in the beautiful capital city of Caras Sant, the Dwarf-King's bodyguards were on alert at all times, casually surrounding the Ereborian royal family and their companions whenever they were out in public or meeting with foreign diplomats. White spires and lofty bell-towers dotted the cityscape, green vineyards stretching for countless miles to the north and west of Caras Sant's great walls while the Rhûnaer Sea dominated the eastern horizon. The Celduin River could just barely be seen to the far north, snaking through the Red Hills and irrigating the lush farmland that was Dorwinion's livelihood.

"They flock around him like buzzards," said Thorin. Thankfully, no one was close enough to hear his acerbic words. "I keep expecting one of the noblewomen to grab him and make a run for it."

"Hobbits are a novelty outside of the western lowlands."

"I don't understand why you're so surprised," said Dala as she returned to the table for more stuffed peppers. "The Dorwinrim are farmers and traders first and foremost, so it makes perfect sense that they would enjoy speaking to a hobbit."

"They treat him like a small child."

"And that's because Bilbo scarcely surpasses their waists. Even dwarves underestimate him," said Dala. "I hear it all the time down in the guild halls. None of it's as crude or disrespectful as it once was, but Bilbo's slight stature and softness makes for easy oversight." She took a large bite of a pepper and pulled an unpleasant face. "Oh dear, that is _very_ hot. Oh Mahâl..."

"Here, drink this."

Thorin forced himself not to laugh when Dala chugged an entire glass of milk in one gigantic gulp, brown eyes watering as she fanned at her rapidly reddening face. It almost matched her hair now.

"You may want to drink another one. Here, take it."

"That had to hurt. Ouch."

"Not one of my brighter moments there," she admitted. "But as I was saying, almost everyone overlooks him. I certainly have been guilty of it on occasion, and if the rumors in Bree and Archet are to be believed, then most of Middle-Earth must be guilty as well. I'd say from the looks of it, they were right. Nobody outside the Bree-lands seems to even know that hobbits exist."

"I'd prefer to keep it that way, to be honest."

Dala tilted her head in that endearing way of hers and said, "You remind me so much of Glóin sometimes. Lovingly sweet yet pig-headedly possessive. Huh, it must run in the family, I suppose. Nothing the better for it."

And with that, she bustled off into the twittering crowds.

"I'll never understand that one," said Dwalin with a raised eyebrow. "Now, c'mon, let's find that charming husband and fauntling of yours. The poofy-haired noble ladies were looking awfully shifty last time I spotted them."

"Maybe it's the crown. I knew I should've brought the sapphire one. It's less fancy and eye-catching."

"I thought you liked eye-catching?"

"Only when the person catching eyes is resting upon my arm," said Thorin. "No mistakes or liberties can be made then."

"Ah, well, can't say I disagree with that, either."

Thorin chuckled. "At least my eye-catcher isn't as flamboyant as yours. Nori's like a peacock."

"Or a starfish."

They shared a small chuckle over that and continued to weave through the crowds, narrowly avoiding the most talkative Dorwinrim noblemen and diplomats. Thorin had been speaking with them all afternoon and he really wasn't looking forward to yet another hour-long discussion about the ideal fertilizers and rainfall numbers for red wines versus white wines. Bilbo had been enthralled by the conversation, but Thorin and the other dwarves had scarcely been able to keep their eyes open. Only Bofur had shown any kind of interest in the subject.

"Ah, there they are."

"I don't..."

And just like every other moment in the past eleven years, Thorin was instantly mesmerized by his hobbit-y husband and how utterly beautiful he was compared to everyone else in the atrium. Bilbo wore a light golden circlet that was crafted into the shape of interwoven leaves and flowers, the white gold contrasting perfectly with the tiny shards of sapphire and Arkenstone that had been engraved into it. With some help from Glóin and Dori, the Dwarf-King had designed and crafted it himself, personally guaranteeing that the crown wouldn't be too heavy or uncomfortable for his much smaller and lighter-boned Consort.

"Just like I said, charming their pants off."

The King snorted. "It seems like Frodo's doing most of the work right now."

"Lad's an evil genius, I swear."

"I'd like to blame it on Fíli and Kíli, but this appears to have _hobbit_ written all over it."

"Dastardly creatures."

True enough, Erebor's youngest royal was curled close to his uncle, blue eyes purposely wide and beseeching to have the desired effect on the women around them. On any other day, Thorin would scoff at the maternal smiles and coos that were being bestowed upon his smallest nephew, but the King wasn't as arrogant as he used to be, which was partially due to said manipulative faunt. Thorin and every other member of the Company had given into that same stare of Frodo's countless times, perhaps even to the point of spoiling him. Aye, Thorin had no room to judge on this particular subject.

"The pear trees in your garden are magnificent, Lady Giordia," said his husband with a sincere smile. "You must tell me how you managed to keep them so healthy and free of pests and parasites. Worms are always after mine, I fear."

"It's all in the fertilizer, mi ciora. The exact combination is essential."

Bilbo made diplomacy look effortless, at least when it came to humans and elves. Skin-changers, too. As usual, he was dressed in the bright greens and yellows that hobbits seemed to favor so much, but with a strong dash of dwarven flair throughout the outfit. The Consort's red jacket was lined with gold and tiny emeralds, exquisite buttons of solid brass adorning the sleeves and center folds, each of them specially designed and crafted by a member of the Company. Bilbo adored those buttons and had insisted on all of his jackets and waistcoats being fitted with them.

"Aye, I completely understand. Our Frodo's morphed into quite the handful in recent years."

"Your farming knowledge has become quite infamous," said the Lady of Caras Sant. Her olive skin and dark eyes reminded Thorin of the villages south of Gondor that he had passed through after Erebor's fall. "I was quite concerned about showing you trees that had been picked clean by greedy hands."

"Oh, not to worry, I've become quite adept at spotting a tree that's been devastated by children's hands. An all too common problem in Erebor, I can assure you."

"I always ask before picking," said Frodo with an indignant frown. "It's Fíli and Kíli who never ask first."

"Those are fighting words, nadadith."

Intricate embroidery was woven through Bilbo's green waistcoat, the golden thread forming a dragon-esque pattern that had been designed by Dori himself. The Royal House of Durin wasn't above using their Consort's reputation to send a message to foreign dignitaries and bluebloods; Bilbo Baggins of Erebor had riddled with the Greatest Calamity of the Third Age, something that no other kingdom in Arda besides Dale could boast about. And Erebor was on very good terms with King Bard, so Thorin saw nothing wrong with including the Dragon-Slayer in those statements as well. Actually, come to think of it, there may have been a tiny depiction of Bard and the Black Arrows right above his husband's bellybutton on the waistcoat. Dori's work was always—

"Cousin!"

And there he was, the greatest scourge of Thorin's existence. Well, okay, maybe the fucking dragon outweighed him a little bit, but Dáin II Ironfoot was _very_ high up on that list and he wasn't coming off of it anytime soon, either.

"I've been looking all over the place for you."

Thorin _really_ needed to have him assassinated. Preferably sooner rather than later.

"Funny," drawled the King, "Because I haven't seen hide nor hair of you all afternoon. It's been downright delightful."

"Oh, don't be so friendly and charming, dear cousin," laughed Dáin in that far-too-loud-for-human-ears manner of his. "The ladies of my court might try to snatch you away if you keep scowling like that. They all seem to find the tall, dark, and broody very attractive this century. And I think the same applies to the Dorwinrim ladies as well. They've been eyeing you all evening. Or is it morning?"

"You discovered Bofur's ramshackle still, didn't you?"

"Quite pungent, isn't it?" said Dáin as he leaned heavily on Thorin's shoulder. "I think that Blacklock lady over there's been eyeing my beard for the past hour. Or is she one of those Stonefoots? Hard to tell nowadays. But I said, I can't come with you, pretty lady. I've my beautiful Gella waiting for me at home in the Iron Hills. Finest beard you'll see west of the Orocarni Mountains."

"Don't let Glóin hear you say that."

"And this is when I'm very happy that my husband's beardless," said Thorin. "No arguments needed on that front."

"Husband? Oh! Bilbo! Where's our favorite hobbit?" Dáin did a full circle in an effort to find his most favored family members. "Hobbits? Is dear, young Frodo here? Gella sent a few gifts for the laddie."

"She never sends just a _few_ ," Dwalin pointed out. "More like a mountain, I'd reckon."

"Bilbo!"

"Well, hello there, Dáin. I didn't know you'd—"

Erebor's Consort released little more than a squeak as he was promptly pulled into a tight bear-hug, all but disappearing into Dáin's voluminous beard and ample girth. Most people would expect Thorin to scream and curse and drag his cousin away from Bilbo, but that was the polar opposite of the Dwarf-King's actual reaction. Instead, Thorin just stood there and gave Bilbo a piteous shake of his head. Dáin was an affectionate and jolly fellow, especially when drunk or feasting, so Thorin was reassured by his cousin's chipper response to Bilbo's and Frodo's presence. The Lord of the Iron Hills could be a powerful ally when he put his mind to it.

"Ummm, Dáin," wheezed the hobbit, "I can't breathe..."

"Oops, terribly sorry about that," said the dwarf lord. He deposited Bilbo at Thorin's side and proceeded to turn in a full circle again. "Ah! And there's my favorite nephew! No, not you. I was referring to the little one."

Kíli didn't look too broken up about that statement.

"How are you doing, Dáin?" asked Bilbo, ever friendly and gracious hobbit that he was. "I didn't expect to see you until Trewsday at the earliest."

"Well, it all started with Gella kicking me out of..."

They somehow ended up outside along the water gardens after that, Lady Giordia and her entourage of noble ladies leading them around the many fountains that lined Caras Sant's seaside villas and terraces. It only took a few minutes for Thorin to realize that this was going to be a problem. His eyes carefully watched Frodo, Gimli, Helm, and Kíli, suspicious of what may be running through those unruly minds of theirs. Frodo would follow the older boys without a second thought, and the last thing Thorin needed was a diplomatic incident involving fountains and naked dwarven butt cheeks.

"Don't even think about it."

Frodo pouted and said, "I wasn't gonna jump in, Uncle Thorin. I'm not that stupid."

"Your cousins certainly are."

"Are you threatening the boys again?" asked Bilbo, his arm looping through Thorin's as they continued along the terraces. "Because they've been very well behaved so far. It would be terrible to ruin that, eh?"

"I can see their minds ticking from here."

"Well, then you should be relieved that Lady Giordia has given permission for them and the other children to play in the fountains," said Bilbo with a knowing smile. "Apparently, the only reason they are not open to the public is because of the trade summit and our presence. I assured her that such a restriction isn't necessary, especially on such a warm mid-summer day."

Thorin stole a quick kiss and said, "You're ingenious, âzyungel."

"No, I'm quite selfish," laughed Bilbo. "I could see that the boys and other children were fast becoming restless and bored. That's a terrible combination. Best to get them all outside for some relaxation and fun. Consider it to be...cultural exchange, I suppose."

"You're brilliant."

"I know, I know," said Bilbo with a faux-haughty smirk. "Now, I packed some light clothes for Kíli, Frodo, and the minions."

"And you'll be needing help?"

"Of course. Have you seen what happens when Frodo, Jóya, and Fróya are together? Pure chaos." Bilbo shuddered at the thought. "Just thank Yavanna that Donel and Dwina aren't here. I'd be ready to pull my footfuzz off, if that was the case."

With three young children bouncing about in excitement—Kíli and Gimli didn't count in that number anymore, no matter what Bilbo said—the royal couple and Dwalin were barely able to wrangle them into some lighter clothing that would be appropriate for swimming before they had dashed off again. Nori and Dala were nearly trampled when they came to check on things, the former just standing there with an eyebrow raised at his rambunctious minions. Fróya and Jóya grinned in return, both too keyed up and excited to mind the non-verbal scolding.

"I think this was a brilliant idea," said Bilbo a few hours later. "We won't be hearing a peep out of them tonight."

"Fróya's at the top of the fountain."

"Oh dear..."

True enough, the young girl had somehow made her way to the top tier of a plant-covered fountain, her blonde head just barely visible from where she was crouching in the small pool. Dwalin stood near the bottom pool, yelling for Fróya to get her ass down from there, right now! Lady Giordia watched everything with an amused grin on her face, dark eyes occasionally flitting over to check on her three young sons and daughter, who were embroiled in a water fight with Frodo and several other human children. Gimli floated nearby with Helm gently pushing him along, three small girls using them as flotation devices. Meanwhile, Thorin was content to sit on a nearby bench, Bilbo snuggled up against his side as the sun started to dip down on the horizon.

"Dwalin's going up after her."

"My sister will be so upset that she didn't get to witness this," snickered Thorin with no sympathy. "Try not to moon—owwww!"

"Not during a diplomatic summit, darling."

"The things I do for hobbits and the sensitivity of humans. My forefathers would be appalled."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "The Dorwinrim have been exceptionally accommodating to our delegation and the peculiarities that come along with it. The last thing we need for you to do is stomp on their kind hospitality and national customs."

"What peculiarities?"

"In case you haven't noticed, this isn't Dale or Esgaroth, and the Dorwinrim haven't had close dealings with dwarves in nearly two hundred years."

"You didn't answer my question."

The hobbit sighed and very quietly stated, "They're neither accustomed nor particularly accepting of couples like _us_ , Thorin. Or Dwalin and Nori. Such couplings are frowned upon in most human societies. Hobbits and elves feel similarly, although they're more willing to overlook or turn a blind eye than humans are. But the Dorwinrim—and every other nation of men who have sent you missives—are desperate to trade with Erebor, so they're ignoring our marriage in favor of peaceful diplomacy."

"I have my heirs," snapped the King. "What business is it of theirs who I choose to wed?"

"We'll talk about this later," said Bilbo, hazel eyes focusing on Frodo when he dashed up to them. "Hello, sweetheart. You have some leaves in your hair."

"Gimli put them there. And down my pants, too."

"Ah, that could be quite the problem. We might want to get those out then. Come here..."

Later turned out to be after the twenty-second bell. The Dorwinrim nobles and diplomats had somehow managed to drone on and on for hours when they'd finally pulled the children out of the fountains. By the fourth hour, Thorin had genuinely started to consider murder and arson as viable means of escape. Diplomacy was not the Dwarf-King's strong suit, as Bilbo and Dís often pointed out. Thorin wasn't a people person and he wasn't afraid to admit it.

"Now where did I put those sleeping clothes..."

Bilbo's bum was wiggling to and fro in the gigantic chest of clothes that they'd brought with them. It was a tantalizing sight and normally, Thorin would have gladly taken full advantage of it. But when it came to caring for their nephews, Bilbo was a hobbit on a mission; and at the moment, that mission was to locate Frodo's night clothes. Any type of interruption or sexual advancement would result in a fuzzy foot connecting with Thorin's thick skull.

"Yoo hoo!"

And there, dangling from the rooftop trellis that surrounded their balcony, was none other than Nori and their nephew's missing night clothes. The spymaster smiled at them and gave a cheery wave of Frodo's pants. Sadly, it didn't surprise Thorin at all.

"Looking for something?"

Mouth and eyes wide with shock, Bilbo simply said, "I'm gonna kill him," and then took off after the thief.

"Well, that went over well."

It was over twenty minutes later when Thorin heard a loud yelp from somewhere down the hallway, his husband marching back into their room and snatching up Frodo from the Dwarf-King's lap. The drowsy faunt didn't even attempt to fight off Bilbo's grabby hands, moving this way and that as the older hobbit rearranged floppy limbs into pant-legs and sleeves. He did whine when Bilbo washed his face, feet, and hands with a damp cloth, but other than that, Frodo was like putty in his parents' laps. Much easier to handle than Fíli and Kíli had been at the same age.

"Can you put him to bed?"

Thorin nodded and picked up his sleepy boy, slowly walking across the room and through the door that led to the adjoining chamber. Whenever Frodo wasn't in the same bed as them during their travels, Bilbo always insisted on having him in the room directly next to theirs, preferably with a connecting doorway for easy access. Hobbits were used to living in close quarters with many family members, but Thorin had quickly learned that this applied doubly to their children. In hobbit culture, it was the job of the family to raise their children in all ways; no governess, non-familial mentor, or outside caregivers allowed.

"And there's the drool," Thorin groaned. "Just can't escape the drool with you."

He settled Frodo onto the enormous bed he was sharing with Kíli and Gimli, both of whom were already sound asleep and snoring in their usual manner. The faunt instantly latched himself onto Kíli's arm, burrowing into his older cousin's side and transforming straight into leech-mode. There would be no escaping him now.

"At least he's clinging to someone else for once."

The King blew out the candles, adjusted the curtains, and then returned to his own room with a soft click of the door. He very much doubted that either of the boys would be waking up any time soon—and Nori's young minions were stashed away with Dwalin and the spymaster for the night—so flipping the lock wouldn't be necessary. Bilbo always got terribly antsy whenever they were separated from Frodo in such a manner. It was best to keep children close during any type of travels, but this especially applied to a child of the royal family.

"I'm not looking forward to breakfast with Lord Marcotio," said Bilbo as he removed a dragon ear wrap that was engraved with Arkenstone shards. He only wore it on special occasions since it made his ears itch. "His wife's delightful, but the man himself? I've rarely seen someone so conceited. And I'm married to _you_."

"The Wine-Lords are known for their arrogance and pomp," stated the King. "But the Koldanas and Marcotios would be powerful allies and trading partners for our people and the men of Dale."

"I know, I know," Bilbo sighed. "The Rogathas don't appear to be very open to outside trading alliances right now."

"And the Giordias?"

Bilbo snorted. "I'm still working on them. And Sigrid was in meetings with their diplomats all day as well."

"I had wondered where that lass was."

"Her father and brother would be lost without her silver tongue." Bilbo didn't argue when Thorin started to remove his clothes. "But whether it will work on Lord Giordia or not remains to be seen. He's a difficult man to read or sway on opinion."

"You've had a long day, ghivashel."

"It would have been shorter if a certain someone was more adept at non-violent negotiations."

"Kíli's an atrocious brat. I blame myself."

The hobbit smacked him and said, "You would blame your poor, defenseless nephew for being a horrible negotiator."

"He's anything but defenseless, I can assure you."

"And your attempts to distract me through unusual questioning is downright suspicious."

"Is it working?"

Bilbo snickered. "That remains to be seen."

"I'm beginning to hate that particular phrase," said Thorin, fingers trailing up and down his husband's sensitive sides. "And I'm feeling a strong inclination to make you see what motives lay behind my questioning."

"Oh, I know what your motives are," Bilbo tapped the King's tented pants, "And they're doing a very poor job of hiding themselves."

"He's happy to see you."

"By the Green Lady," giggled the hobbit, "You stole that from Nori, didn't you?"

"Dáin, actually."

"Goodness, that's even worse! Far, far worse!"

Thorin used his husband's indignant distraction to his advantage, carefully leading Bilbo over to bed once the hobbit was in nothing but his underpants. He was gentle with his husband, always aware of how much smaller and softer Bilbo was compared to himself. The stubborn hobbit was a force to be reckoned with in many ways, but when it came to brute strength and physical durability, Bilbo just couldn't compete with the dwarves around him. Of course, it was through no fault of his own—hobbits simply weren't built like dwarves, who possessed incredibly strong bones and naturally high muscle mass—but Thorin knew well that Bilbo could become disgruntled if he treated him like glass or that fancy eastern china that Dori favored so much.

"You're tense, âzyungel."

"Considering I spent most of my day rubbing elbows with the Dorwinrim nobles while also attempting to understand Folyavuldok—and may I add that that language is quite baffling to the western ear—I think a certain level of stress is to be expected."

"I thought they all spoke Westron?"

"Only the nobility and merchants, for the most part," said Bilbo, his fingers tangling in Thorin's hair as he fell back onto the bed. "And do you know how difficult it is to watch all of those noble ladies eye you up and down all afternoon? Downright exhausting."

"Your eyes must be failing you."

The hobbit ran his fingers over Thorin's numerous inkings, always appreciative of the pain and determination that went into each piece of art. From his calves to his shoulders stretched intricate runes and familial symbols, all of them telling a wonderful story about the Dwarf-King's arduous life. Just like with Thorin's piercings, Bilbo loved every one of them, and fully supported his husband when he felt it was time for a new inking. They still made Bilbo nervous at times—the thought of an infection or misplaced needle was a nightmare of his—but he loved running his fingers and tongue all over them.

"Oh, they're really not." Bilbo tugged at his husband's braids in an effort to bring him closer. "Even Frodo noticed it."

"Then both of you are hallucinating."

Bilbo huffed in disbelief and said, "I don't think you realize how attractive you are, darling. Perhaps the line of Durin isn't especially handsome by dwarven standards, but you are ridiculously appealing to the human and hobbit eye, I can assure you. Tall, dark, and handsome—although that first one may only apply to hobbits, I fear. And rugged in the finest sense of the word."

"My beard's barely five inc—"

"Oh hush," Bilbo leaned up for a deep kiss, "You know that matters little to non-dwarfs. Even though they stare quite a bit as well. That Blacklock lady from Ered Laranor had better learn to keep her eyes to herself."

"And what will you do if she doesn't?" asked Thorin, lips pressing kisses and nips to Bilbo's vulnerable neck. "Attack her?"

"No, I'll sic Frodo on her. That child is vicious."

Thorin chuckled as he worked his way up Bilbo's ear, nibbling on the sensitive lobe and pointed tip as his hobbit moaned in pleasure. After eleven years of marriage, Thorin knew all of his husband's pleasure points and wasn't afraid to ruthlessly exploit them. And, to the King's immense joy and satisfaction, he had quickly learned that softness and pudge resulted in many noteworthy reactions. The mere thought of how receptive Bilbo was to his touch made Thorin's underpants so constrictive that he wondered if severe penal pressure was a potential cause of death.

"Using your own child to chase away romantic opponents," rumbled Thorin, his tongue slowly mapping Bilbo's shoulders and collarbone. "For shame, umzam."

"At least I don't punch them like you."

"It's a perfectly acceptable reaction. And his face was bugging me, anyways."

His hobbit just giggled in response, breath catching when Thorin lavished attention on his nipples and pudgy belly. Many dwarves would be put off by such softness, but the King found it endlessly attractive and never failed to give his smaller husband's cuddlesome assets the due that they deserved. A well-fed and ample hobbit was a happy and content hobbit, as his sister and Balin frequently reminded him. So, keeping Bilbo and Frodo on a seven-meal-per-day diet was always at the very top of Thorin's priority list. And besides, it was just so much fun to play with his husband's doughy belly, generous bum, and creamy thighs.

"No, no, not the bellybutton! I'm warning you, Thorin. If you so much as—oh goodness!"

The King smirked, tongue delving deep and sucking on his husband's fourth most sensitive erogenous zone. Bilbo's voice was lost somewhere between a giggle and a moan, small hands whacking at Thorin's head a few times before he finally flopped back onto the pillows and simply allowed the dwarf to have his midnight snack. He focused all of his attention on that one spot, thoroughly enjoying Bilbo's breathy moans and wriggling body, which were two of his favorite pastimes in life. Hobbits were creatures of cheer and comfort, as anyone who passed through the Shire would learn within minutes. However, they were also insatiably addicted to pleasure and luxury between the sheets, as Thorin had also quickly learned after their wedding night.

Or against a wall. Or in the bathtub. Or in the garden. Or in Dwalin's office. Or upon the throne in the darkness of night.

Stubbornly chaste before marriage they may be, but hobbits were also demanding miscreants once a ring was upon their finger. Bilbo ran the dwarf ragged some nights, his unassuming body insisting upon Thorin's duty to fulfill his every sexual need. Even though those needs were simple and very straightforward, it still made Thorin's back and arms ache in the morning. He genuinely wondered if all hobbits were like Bilbo in that regard.

"By Yavanna," gasped Bilbo, "Stop teasing me, you terrible dwarf!"

"Where's the—owwww!"

"Serves you right for being such an awful tease," said Bilbo, hands pulling hard on Thorin's beard. "Now come here..."

The Dwarf-King didn't object to his husband's rough handling, happily sinking into the deep kiss that Bilbo had insisted upon, braided beard still caught in those clever hands while he attempted to wriggle them out of their underpants. They ended up getting stuck about halfway through, Bilbo's legs pinwheeling as the cloth bunched up around his bent knees while Thorin nearly rolled off the bed when his became stuck on his left foot. He tried to maneuver around, but all that did was result in Thorin falling forward and nearly squishing Bilbo into a pile of aroused frustration.

"Don't move your knee or else you'll—"

"Well, if you wouldn't—"

"Ouch! I just told you not to move, you—"

"I didn't! It was you who—"

"Where in Arda did that damned oil run off—"

And then they both rolled straight off the bed, Thorin twisting at the last second so that he'd land on the floor first, safely cushioning Bilbo atop his chest and stomach with a protective hand behind the hobbit's head. Of course, it also resulted in Thorin smashing his skull against the carpeted ground, but some sacrifices had to be made in order to keep his husband in good health. And Thorin had a hard head, anyways.

The rocks had made sure of that.

"By Eru," gasped the hobbit, "Thorin! Thorin! Are you alright? Say something! Anything! Are you bleeding?"

"You're squishing my penis..."

"Oh dear, we can't have that," Bilbo babbled to himself. "Can't have—"

"Why are you getting up?"

Bilbo blinked at him. "Because I just nearly crushed your—"

"And there's no need for you to get up," said Thorin, hands readjusting Bilbo's bare hips atop his own. "All I did was hit my head. Plus, we're finally naked. I can handle some minor cranial damage for that kinda outcome."

He reached down and squeezed his husband's deflated erection, the dwarf's calloused hand twisting and fondling in that gentle yet firm manner that Bilbo enjoyed so much. With quite a bit of smug satisfaction, Thorin pumped the hobbit's cock with one hand while the other patted around the nightstand for a small vial of oil that he'd left there earlier in the day. Even with an aching head and back, the dwarf refused to pass up such a _stimulating_ opportunity. And since he didn't feel any blood or fractured bones, Thorin was more than ready to get down to business now.

"I don't know if—"

The King rolled his hips upward into Bilbo's exposed rump and growled, "I'm perfectly fine with this position, ghivashel."

"Oh dear..."

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot has been vegetating on my laptop for nearly ten months now. And since I'm laid up for the next day or two courtesy of a lovely Vietnamese fruit that decided to rip apart my stomach, you guys get this little piece of work. I went a bit out of my comfort zone here and wrote a slightly steamier (by my standards) sex scene, so I hope it turned out half-decent. Silly sex seems to be my staple, I think. And tormenting Thorin with hobbits, nephews, and ladies of every race who want to pinch his glorious bum and silky hair. Poor guy...


End file.
